


The Virgin Queen

by Inforapoundd



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Angst, ivar - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-10-04 13:29:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20471804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inforapoundd/pseuds/Inforapoundd
Summary: A foreign warrior queen heads a manhunt for Kattegat's fallen king. Unsure how to best use her new prisoner, she must devise a plan to expand her rule and, through alliance, protect her own lands from the Vikings as well as Anglo Saxon Christians.Also on tumblr @inforapound





	The Virgin Queen

Nearly a month they had occupied the former monastery and at no point, Gael saw anything that would have her understand why a house of worship hoarded such wealth. Meanwhile, many of their God’s supposed children starved on their poorly producing farms and were forced to hand over grain and livestock. Christians…. she thought. No different here than at home. The stories from their sacred books sounding more like tales spun to scare children into keeping quiet and doing what they were told. The hypocrisy grated the inside of her head like a boot full of sand.

Sitting on the stone steps, she peered over the tops of the small scrubby trees. The long yellow grass, folding in the warm wind, casting a dry smell into the moving breeze. Chewing a long piece of hay, the image of his boyish, bitter face floated through her mind. She was puzzled by her prisoner. Seven months, she and her warriors, scoured the villages boarding the Swedish coastline. Looking for a man who should not have been able to vanish. Imagining, such man, raised near the sea would have found his way back to the expansiveness of the ocean. Even while hiding. Perhaps, because he was hiding. Was he a prisoner, she questioned herself? All this time looking for him and he now sat just inside, and she felt more unsure than ever.

Shaking her head at her own indecisiveness, she hucked the stem of straw down the steps. There was no question he had value. That was certain. What she had yet to determine was whether that value was higher than what he could be traded for. The king of Norway was a handsome, charming man. An experienced warrior and far from stupid. And yet, she was still to understand how a country could have more than one King? How long could Longhair and Ironside rule autonomously? Amicably? Fighting for glory was a bottomless cup and these Vikings, she had noticed, were a thirsty bunch. Like her, they called themselves pagans, but she saw nothing in them that mirrored her own beliefs.

Breathing in deeply, she exhaled pushing every bit of air out of her lungs. Forcing her shoulders to lower and hopefully, expel the tension of the grueling hunt. Smoking a bear out of its den was one thing. Locating a former mastermind king was another. In the end, it was not his supposed boneless legs that gave him away. All but ready to give up her search that very morning, her eyes caught on the slight movement of a wooden shutter on a locked-up blacksmith’s. Just one brilliant blue eye staring back at her from inside the dark hut.

It would be impossible to count the number of times she had pictured those eyes. The rich blue, with a depth that reminded Gael of the sensation that rushed to her feet when standing too close to a cliffside. It was over a year ago that those sparkling eyes and that sour face had first appeared in her dreams. And here she sat, on the front steps, held down by a heavy blanket of avoidance.

—

Walking into the dimly lit dining room, she found him sitting, eating, at one end of the long table. He was looking at her from over the rim of his goblet, filled with Christian wine like she was intruding on his solitude. Stopping at the opposite end of the table, she rested her hands on the back of a tall chair. Waiting. Placing his cup down, his eyes narrowed taking her in. Assessing her. Skipping over the soft features of her kind face looking for weakness. Access in. She could see his mind working to figure out who she was and what her plans were. There was no question he must be confused. Dragged like a hog on his belly out of that shack, he was now being fed like an honoured visitor.

Running her tongue across her lower lip, she tipped her head to one side just as he had before addressing her.

“Am I a prisoner?” he asked in a calm voice, cocking his head to the other side. Testing her resolve.

His voice was smooth yet raspy and somehow felt like a whisper in her ear. She wondered why he spoke to her in English rather than Norse but regardless, she did not immediately respond. She was in charge here.

“That will be up to you?” she replied, keeping her eyes fixed on his.

His brows pinched further despite his best efforts to remain neutral.

Walking down the side of the table toward him, she watched his calculating blues track every one of her movements. Subtly scanning the corners of the room looking for concealed guards. There were none.

Stopping two seats from his, she pulled out a chair and sat down. Again, meeting his gaze, she figured he was taking note of the absence of her fear along with her poise, unwavering eyes and the way she rested her wrists casually on the arms of the chair. Sweeping his gaze from her face to her chest, down to her crossed legs and back to her hands, she knew he was looking for signs. Jewelry. Runes. Markings. Anything that might give him insight.

There it was. She saw it. That flash of recognition on his face. There was no way for him to know who she was but he, without question, knew she was a queen.

“What are you looking at?” he spat. A little more venom reaching the surface.

“I am trying to decide?” she finally answered in a soft voice. Her face giving nothing away.

His weakness was glaring. It would be spotted a battlefield away. Or a dining room as it were. It was what made him guarded and insecure. Aggressive. She possessed the very same quality. In her, however, it bridged the barrier between herself and her people. Herself and her loyal warriors. Herself and her Gods. It was humility. Who would Ivar the Boneless be, she wondered, if there had been nothing to prove?

“Decide what?” he questioned. 

Reaching up behind her head, she swept her long red hair over to rest down one shoulder. Placing a hand on the table between them, she leaned forward, eyeing him straight on, and whispered, “you or Harald.”


End file.
